seemingly to herself, "I never have been able to find a real love, an honest love." He decided her voice was almost as exciting as her lip movement. "Oh, I've had lots of lovers..." David came back into the room with the drinks and a ready-made pitcher. "...lots of one-night stands. I've had my share of passion, but I've never found real love." David sat down next to her, closer than he had in the park. Her lips, her voice, and now the admission of loneliness excited him. He said, "I found a love or, rather, I found love. It was complete in every sense. You know..physical, mental, spiritual, all of it." Her voice was quietly triumphant. "Then you are lonely." They both drank their coke-and-rums half-way before he answered. "I guess." His voice sounded very philosophical. "..I guess there isn't any such thing as an unlonely man At least I've never met one. "We're all-men, I mean we're all a searching bunch. We just aren't any good at finding. Most of the time we don't even know what we're looking for. When we do know, even when we find it, we usually throw it away without realizing it was our making." He finished his drink. They both sat very still, without speaking, staring at their feet. She sipped her drink until it was empty. David took the pitcher and poured them another fill. They both drank fast. He refilled the glasses twice more before she broke the silence. "Tell me about her." "I can't," he returned quickly. "Please." Again her voice was seeping through him, massaging his muscles, relaxing his mind. "I want to see how a man loves. I have loved, but I have never been loved. I have had love made to me, but I have never been taken in love." David watched her eyes water as she spoke. She was serious, and her seriousness disturbed him. "But you're beautiful." "Oh, sure," she scoffed. "No, wait. You are." "Okay, so I am." Her voice was pensive. "But tell me about her." "I don't know what there is to tell," he began slowly. He didn't want to talk about Linda for several reasons. It hurt him, for one, and, for another, he had decided he liked this girl and didn't want to blow it. "We fell in love too easily. It just seemend like, well, we were right for each other. We walked down the street together, and people got used to seeing us together." He caught himself on that sentence and realized how mushy the rum made his head feel. He finished what he had left in his glass, then decided to end the conversation. "We got married and it didn't work out like she wanted it to. I mean, things got hard, you know, real hard. She wasn't living like she was used to, big house and all, so she just packed her bags one day and told me she was going home." Their glasses were empty. David started to refill them, but the pitcher had somehow emptied itself. He was feeling the liquor and could tell she was too. "Did you really love her?" Her voice had thickened, deepening the sensuality. He turned and looked at her. Her eyes were moist from the rum, and she obviously wanted to cry. Her lips were quivering. 20 "I thought so." As he spoke, he slid over against her. She looked up at him; their faces came closer. Her lips were soft against his, tasting of coke-and-rum. She felt natural in his arms. They started to lie back, but she pulled away. "No, wait." Her voice was still quiet. "This isn't any good. It's just the rum." Rain drove in sheets against the window of David's apartment. He stood alone, watching it. She had left almost immediately after he had kissed her. He thought it was probably a good thing. He didn't feel like being tied down again. The effects of the coke-and-rum had lessened. His head hurt. From the bathroom, an uneven dripping sound shattered the even murmur of the rain on his window. He decided to try to sleep. He went into the bedroom to take a sleeping pill, the only cure for his lonely insomnia. The sink-faucet dripped as he reached into the medicine-cabinet for the green bottle. He turned the water on to stop the noise. He left it running while he went back into the main room to get his coke-and-rum glass. He came back, rinsed it, filled it with water, then turned the faucet off. He took a sleeping pill from the bottle, put it on his tongue and swallowed it with a sip of water. The bottle began to fascinate him. Water dripped from the faucet. He took another pill, another sip, another pill, another sip...he would sleep well now. He wasn't going to be lonely any more. by Laurence Huston A Seasoned Song by Floyd Hansen I walked into the orchard Drawn by the sweet-wine smell. I stayed and sampled many fruits. I ate red apples, ripe peaches, and soft yellow pears straight from the tree. I tasted many But I only loved one greenish-red apple, caught high in the tallest tree Far above my longest reach. 21